First Impressions
by ShoutFinder
Summary: There's something odd about the new prisoner in Cidhna Mine...


**A/N: Hello, readers! This is my first oneshot, EVER! I have just done the No One Escapes Cidhna Mine quest earlier this evening and this was just clamouring to be written, and so I wrote it. I hope with all my heart that you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. WARNING: May contain a bit of coarse language at the beginning.**

**So this only stars four official characters; Alyssa the Dovahkiin, Uraccen, Borkul the Beast and Urzoga gra-Shugurz. I hope you enjoy :)**

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Uraccen stared at the dancing fire, already lost in thought. How long it had been since he had had a chance to just sit down and stretch his legs and aching arms, he had lost track of time. It was rather difficult to keep track of it, gathering that they were in a prison so deep underground that not a breath of air from the outside world ever got in.

Then again, Uraccen reflected, he was used to it by now. Several years' time spent underground, mining ore day and night, starved, abused, treated like crap by the other prisoners and trying not to get on the wrong end of a shiv had taught him to be cautious, mistrusting and quiet, one who minded his own business and preferred not to get into the business of others. As it was, he was hardly popular with anyone—then again, hardly anyone was popular with anyone. Only Borkul, that massive brute of an Orc who guarded Madanach's quarters between beating rock into pebble, was the one who everyone respected. Oh, and Madanach too, of course. Nobody would dare disrespect their King.

Other than Grisvar. He wasn't one of them, the Forsworn. Just a petty, failed thief. He had absolutely no respect from anyone, and as a result, always kept a pair of shivs close on hand.

He thought of what he had been told upon first coming here, personally, by Madanach himself. _The Nords have turned you into a beast, my friend; left you in a cage to go mad._

Well, Uraccen reflected, he had all his gloomy, miserable life ahead of him, in this Gods-forsaken mine, and if he didn't rip out his own throat first, he'd have someone else rip it out for him, when he finally succumbed to madness—what did the Imperials call that God of insanity? Sheogorath.

Hmph. Imperials. Seemed the Nords had a problem with all the races, for one reason or another. He'd already heard that another war had started up, this time Nords between Nords, and a few Imperials from Cyrodiil. Not to mention a dragon attack on one of the Imperial outposts. And then there was the rumour that a Dragonborn had returned to Skyrim. Dragons had been sighted everywhere, according to the rather chatty guardsmen; Uraccen was quiet, but that didn't mean he didn't eavesdrop. He himself had grown vaguely interested by this news.

He remembered mentioning it to Grisvar, just to see how the burly Nord would react.

'If the dragons are really returning, then I hope that the Dragonborn really has come back,' Grisvar had said fervently, between throwing his pickaxe head on the rock with loud _clunks_. 'Otherwise, we're all dead anyway. Not just the Nords—everything.'

The dragons...hmph. Uraccen glowered. Well, he supposed that if this dratted World-Eater really was coming back, he hoped that he'd just hurry up and get the job done. Better dead than living a life of misery in this place. He'd been in here so long, he'd forgotten light other than candles and the cavern's main fire, and what the stars were meant to be, and even what the wind tasted like, or hot food that didn't have grit as its compulsory side.

He heard something clang, loudly, up above. It was a sound that he knew fairly well, and he swiftly looked up. There was movement, the rattle of chainmail, and a feminine voice hissing ferociously, 'Don't _touch_ me!'

'Well well,' rumbled Borkul from nearby. 'New blood. This should be good. I was getting bored.'

Despite himself, Uraccen said, 'Borkul, by the sounds of it, the prisoner's a woman.'

'Yeah. More fun that way.' There was savage pleasure in Borkul's eyes that made Uraccen shiver and pity the poor thing who had come into a mine filled with men. Men who were drunk on Skooma and already half-mad. She'd be dead within a month.

He heard a guardsman sneer, 'Have fun,' before the iron bars clanged shut.

'Go to Oblivion, you shits!' she shouted over her shoulder. Her voice thundered with surprising volume around the mine.

Uraccen frowned. On second thoughts, he'd take back his wager.

'All right, scum, eyes front!' Ah, the charming Orc captain, Uraccen realized, though her rusty, husky voice didn't seem to possess that same loud quality as the new prisoner's. 'You're in Cidhna Mine now, and we expect you to earn your keep. You won't be lying your hide around in a jail cell. Here, you dig. You dig until you start throwing up silver ingots. Understood?'

Uraccen waited. He didn't have to wait long.

'I'm sorry...' There was now a deliberate insolent drawl to the new blood's voice. 'I'm a little deaf in this ear...'

Briefly, armour rattled. Then Uraccen visibly winced as he heard the sound of a gauntleted hand strike flesh—hard. The woman cried out in pain. 'Shut your face!' Uraccen heard the Orc snarl. There was a pause. 'The next time, I won't be so lenient,' the Orc growled menacingly. 'And any more smart-aleck from you, I won't _hesitate_ to have the guards cut off your toes.'

'Oh, wow, after all the Gods-damned _shit_ I've gone through in the few months of freedom I've had, I'm going to quake and tremble to you.' The new blood's voice rang clearly around the chamber again, and this time, both Uraccen and Borkul cracked a grin. It was good to hear Urzoga gra-Shugurz getting someone who was actually fighting back.

There was a snort. 'I can't be bothered wasting my breath on you anyway. Open her up!'

There was a loud _clang_ of iron, and a shadow briefly flickered above the platform. Uraccen looked up. 'Now you!' he heard the Orc snarl. 'Get down there!'

After a moment, Uraccen heard the door slam shut, and peering through the darkness, he saw someone appear at the top of the platform, glaring over her shoulder and rubbing her eye.

'And _you_ can go to Oblivion too, you piece of green troll shit,' she growled.

Some time later, she lowered her hand, and looked around. If Uraccen wasn't mistaken, he heard her bitterly sigh, and mutter, 'I'm sorry, Karliah. May take a little while longer before you can get the journal back...'

She headed down from the platform, and her eyes cast on Uraccen. After a brief second's hesitation, she moved forward towards the crackling flames.

Now outlined in the clearer light, Uraccen saw her features clearly for the first time. The first thing that he noticed was that she was a Nord—a part of him told him to hate her at once. But a second thing he noticed was...well, this woman was beautiful. Undeniably _beautiful_, as though she had been a blessed creation of Dibella herself. Her eyes were as green as grass—he had never once forgotten the vibrant surface-earth colours he had long left behind. Her hair was as hazel as tree bark. Her skin was a delicate shade of olive. Everything about her screamed of what he so long ago had left behind—the world above the prisons.

Even with a swelling black eye on the left side of her face, she still looked beautiful—and she was nursing a cut and bloody lip. But her eyes were flashing with a surprising amount of defiance—Uraccen found he couldn't meet a gaze like that for long. It was as though he was looking into a furnace filled with emerald flames.

'So, new blood, huh?' he commented, deciding to take in all the other aspects of the newcomer's face—and wow, what a figure!—to avoid looking into such fiery eyes. 'What are you in for?'

She grunted as she sat down, obviously not in the mood for talking. 'Life.'

'I gathered that,' Uraccen said. 'Here, we all are. But what are you in _for_?'

She glared heatedly into the fire, seemingly unaffected by its burning glare. 'Murder.'

Uraccen cocked an eyebrow. 'Really? Why am I not surprised?'

'Shut it,' she snapped. 'I really, _really_ am not in the mood for Bretons at the moment.' Her eyes journeyed past Uraccen, and she added with a bitter snarl, 'Or Orcs, for that matter, so piss off!'

'Watch it,' Uraccen warned, not even bothering to keep his voice down. 'That there you're talking to is Borkul the Beast.'

'He can be Borkul the Whoreson for all I care,' the woman said, plaintively stating the insult without a trace of apprehension crossing her face. 'I do not give one stuff to what you call yourselves.' She returned to staring moodily into the fire.

Uraccen was startled. Well, he hadn't been expecting the newest prisoner to be like _this_. Deciding against sidling a little closer—this woman looked dangerous enough, even without a shiv on hand—Uraccen said, 'Who did you kill to get in here?'

'You lot,' was the short response.

Uraccen frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'What do you think I mean? The Forsworn, you idiot.' Seeing his startled expression, she gave a hollow laugh and said, 'That's right. You heard me. _Forsworn_. First time I step foot into Markarth sober, and there's Weylin going crazy in the market. So I shoot him dead, before he sticks Margret's guts. That was the first thing. _Then_ I was tasked with finding out a conspiracy in Markarth.' She started ticking off on her fingers, every movement displaying an immense air of bitterness. 'Let's see; I go to the inn and talk to Margret. I get a talking-to from a city guardsman, telling me basically to back off from business. Well, when I get something started, I don't give up on it. So I went to see Thonar Silver-Blood. Next thing I know, two of his _supposed_ family kill his wife and almost us. Tells me to piss off. Hardly surprising.

'Then I go to visit Weylin's quarters in the Warrens. I come out, immediately get into a brawl with some louthead of a mercenary. Then I go and visit a fellow named Nepos the Nose. Nearly get stuck in the guts. Have to kill them to defend myself. Forsworn, the lot of them! Then I head back to the Shrine of Talos, only to find my contact dead, and corrupt guardsmen ready and waiting to take me here.'

She laughed bitterly. 'Oh, wouldn't Elenwen be showering them with gold right now, for all it's worth. Yes, charming, imprison the little runaway in the only place that can _really_ torture her...'

Uraccen was slightly startled at her story. _Hell, Braig's doesn't seem to match up to this woman's..._eventually, he said, somewhat carefully, 'What about the First Emissary?'

'I've been on the run from her and all the fucking Thalmor ever since they massacred my family five months ago.'

Uraccen blinked. 'Your family's dead, too?'

'Tell me about it.' She glared somewhat harder into the fire. 'Died all in one night. Burned to death, in our own home. I only got away—and with this.' She pulled something out from her pocket. In the firelight, Uraccen could see that it was an amulet, bright gold in colour, with two shining sapphires for eyes. She looked around, suddenly cautious. 'Where are the guards?' she demanded.

Uraccen shrugged. 'They come by once a week to clear out the bodies and beat down the troublemakers,' he said. 'They also gather up all the ore that we've mined up. Oh, and that's the only time that we get food, too. And if we don't have enough ore mined up, well, we don't get any.'

'Charming,' said the woman, though a small part of her face looked relieved as she strung the amulet around her throat.

'How did you manage to smuggle that in here?' Uraccen asked, out of absent interest.

She threw him a look. Uraccen did his best not to flinch. But then her face softened...slightly.

'I'm a _thief_,' she said, matter-of-factly. 'I also have this...' She fingered a lockpick in her other hand, before slipping it back into the folds of her prison tunic. 'Though a fat lot of good this is going to be in a place where your prison wall is solid damn _rock_.'

The golden dragon amulet glinted on her chest.

A part of Uraccen told him to ask her more about her family—so she wasn't like the other Nords. He was respecting her already, and all she had done was swear and talk a bit about her past, and why she was here. But he remembered that this was how he had survived for several years in the prisons; not to question others about their pasts. Okay, she didn't have a shiv on her (for all he could see) so she couldn't stick him in the guts, but if motivated, he was pretty sure she'd claw out his eyes like a harpy.

'You know,' said Uraccen, 'for a murderer, you're awfully loud.'

He nodded towards her black eye.

'This?' She fingered her face absently. '_This_ is what I got from one Uaile, a _housemaid_ of Nepos the Nose. And _this_—' she touched her bleeding lip '—is what I got from that bitch of an Orc just now.'

But Uraccen had gone oddly quiet and still. Uaile...his daughter...

'Tell me,' he said, trying to keep his voice steady, 'How is Uaile?'

She smiled coldly and grimly. 'Dead,' she said.

It felt as though a knife had been twisted in Uraccen's heart. 'Did you kill her?' he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

'No,' she said, which surprised Uraccen—he had already been preparing to bash her head in with a pickaxe. 'My dog did.' She said so without the slightest trace of guilt, but Uraccen's former murderous rage faded.

Despite himself, Uraccen said, 'You have a dog?'

'If I don't get out of here, _had_ a dog,' she said. 'Yeah, you can say I do.' She sighed. 'I hope that he's got out of the town, at least. Gone and found Warrior. Maybe they can find their way back to Riften or something. I know that the Guild members might recognize them...'

It struck Uraccen. 'You're a member of the Thieves Guild?'

'Yeah,' the woman shrugged. 'Well...maybe not at the moment. I mean, the entire Guild, no doubt, thinks me dead. Kind of hard not to, considering that it was the Guildmaster who stabbed me in the middle of nowhere, with no witnesses but a woman already branded a murderer...' She sighed. 'Long story, and I am not in the mood to share it.'

'Why not?' a deep voice interjected. Uraccen glanced over his shoulder, startled; Borkul had sidled over, and now he seated himself across from the newcomer, folding his gauntleted arms over his bare chest and his white face looking all the more menacing in the light of the crackling flames.

The woman, quite on the contrary, glanced at the Orc only for a moment, completely unfazed by his stance. 'Because I don't feel like telling it,' she replied shortly. 'Particularly not to an Orc, much less to a Breton.'

'We're right about something, then,' Borkul grinned. 'All Nords are racist as hell.'

Quite unexpectedly, the woman laughed. 'I'm nothing. I've only had a bad turn lately. Wait until you meet Ulfric Stormcloak, my friend.'

Uraccen glowered. 'Don't even mention that one's name here,' he snarled.

She sobered. 'Yes, I suppose I shouldn't.'

'Ulfric destroyed everything we stood for,' Uraccen growled, sounding menacing himself now. 'Drove the Reachmen out into the hills, making them become the Forsworn. Killed countless. Enslaved our leader, enslaved us in this rothole.'

'Well,' said the woman, but she didn't sound the least worried by the sudden aggression of the formerly mind-his-own-business Reachman, 'I haven't known Ulfric for long. Haven't seen him in almost five months. Not since the day that Helgen nearly got burned to the ground.'

She spat a bead of blood onto the earth.

'So,' said Borkul, 'I hear that you're in here for murder, new blood.'

'Hmph. Murder. Self-defense, Gods-damn it.'

'Liar. Tell me—how did it feel, killing your first?' asked Borkul, a glint of savage pleasure that made Uraccen slightly nervous glittering in his small, beady eyes. 'More importantly—_who_ did you kill first?'

A strange smile now played on the woman's lips. 'An Elf,' she said. 'Actually, a Thalmor Elf. All dressed up in the black-and-gold robes. Killed him right then and right there, in my burning home. Stuck him through the heart with a knife.'

'So how did it feel?' asked Borkul.

She shrugged. 'I don't know. I don't really care. It didn't help the current situation very much. But...well, at the time, I suppose it was the best thing I felt I had done in a _very_ long time. Because that bastard was the one who started the fire in the first place.' Her voice became surprisingly cold. 'The one who set the fire that killed my family and destroyed my entire legacy.'

Borkul snorted. 'So, you first killed an Elf. You've got all the makings of a killer, I can see. You'll fit in fine down here.'

'I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted,' the woman remarked.

'What was your legacy?' asked Uraccen.

'Nose out, Breton, or I'll take it out for you.'

Borkul chuckled. 'You've quite a bit of fire in you...er...?'

The woman paused, brooding, then she eventually sighed and gave in. 'What difference is it going to make? Alyssa, then, if you must know.'

Uraccen frowned. 'You _are_ a Nord, right?'

She glowered. 'Do I look like a freaking Argonian to you?'

'Of course,' Uraccen said, quickly. 'It's just that...'

'Alyssa isn't a Nordic name?' She snorted. 'Well, obviously. I'm Nord, true. There's Imperial also in me. Not to mention a bit of Aedric...but you needn't bother your little heads over that. And to add to it, I was born and raised in Cyrodiil, in my old home, which is now nothing but smoking ashes burrowed into the Colovian Highlands.'

Uraccen blinked. Had she...had she said _Aedric?_ No. Impossible. Must've misheard. But if not...damn. There was more to this woman than what obviously met the eye.

'Now I _have_ to ask,' said Borkul, sounding a touch amused. 'Did the captain give you the black eye or the split lip?'

'Lip,' Alyssa responded. 'Uaile gave me the eye.'

'So I heard,' said Borkul, chuckling. 'I had to make sure, though.'

'It's nothing to what Borkul received when he first came in here,' Uraccen stated. 'Being an Orc...he was even _worse_...'

He half-expected Borkul to smash his face into the dirt at that, but instead, Borkul let out a booming laugh. 'Dead right!' he declared. 'But I couldn't resist...'

Alyssa's face split into a wide grin. 'Do I dare imagine?'

'Male Orc meets female Orc?' Borkul snorted. 'Please. It just _had_ to happen. By the sounds of it, last time I'll ever get to do it—and _boy_, didn't _she_ have a true Orc's personality!' He leaned back, exposing his chest—which Uraccen could see had faint, twelve-year-old whip lash scars stretched taut over the greenish-greyish skin. 'Twenty lashes, on my first day,' he grinned. 'A split lip is nothing.'

'I wasn't giving her Orc courtship,' Alyssa retorted, with a grin. 'I was giving her her first taste of sarcasm.'

'Must've been sour, then,' Uraccen concluded.

There was a pause, in which a lightheartedness Uraccen and Borkul had not experienced for years lasted between them, before Alyssa said, 'You know, Breton, I never got your name.'

'It's Uraccen,' he said. 'At your service,' he added, somewhat sarcastically.

She cocked one eyebrow. 'Excuse me? I think you know what happens if you piss off a woman.'

'Back off there,' Borkul warned, cuffing Uraccen good-naturedly (but even so, ever had an _Orc_ "good-naturedly" cuff you? You'd be lucky not to see the floor under your nose) around the head. 'It's plainly obvious that this one has a lot more fire than old Urzoga ever did.'

Alyssa smiled, bowing her head deeply. 'I am _honoured_.'

She looked around at the pair and commented, 'Well, you've heard enough about me and my own sad, sad past. What are you two in this rathole for?'

Borkul calmly listed off his crimes. 'Murder. Banditry. Assault. Theft.' He grinned. 'And lollygagging.'

'The worst crime of them all,' Alyssa smirked, turning to Uraccen. 'And you, Breton?'

Uraccen, slightly ruffled, hid his irritation at being asked such an outmost question, but answered nonetheless, though a little shortly. 'A Nord nobleman I served was stabbed in the night. Wasn't me, but I knew I'd be blamed. So I ran. Joined the Forsworn. Started killing. Got caught. Now I'm here.'

'Ah, a _fellow_ murderer,' said Alyssa, very drily, making Borkul chuckle.

Uraccen frowned. There was something about the way she said that... 'Bretons wrong you in the past, Nord?' he inquired coolly. 'You seem to have an awful lot of tongue-and-cheek for my kin when _yours_ threw you into the mines.'

'Oh, nothing, nothing, only that my Guildmaster just _happened _to be a Breton, and he secretly had been betraying the Guild and stabbing people in the back.' Her fiery green eyes hardened. '_Literally_.'

'Any proof?'

'Yeah. He stabbed _me_. And at the moment, I am now sitting in a prison hole where anyone is going to stab anyone for a bit of Skooma.' She glared at the pair of them. 'Yeah, that's right. Don't think I haven't heard of what people do in the Cidhna mines before I've been landed here myself.'

Uraccen frowned. 'Then in that case, take my advice; get a shiv.'

'You know, I was just thinking the same thing. Never felt more Gods-damned defenseless.' She looked around. 'Now where would I happen to find a shiv?'

'Go and talk to your _brother of snow_, some twit of a Nord named Grisvar the Unlucky,' Borkul suggested, with obvious dislike. 'Heard he has a spare.'

Alyssa met his gaze coldly. 'The only brothers I have are with the Guild,' she said, coolly and firmly.

'If you're in the Thieves Guild, congratulations, you do have a brother here, after all; Grisvar's in for thieving, thieving, thieving...you get the idea,' said Uraccen.

'OI! WHAT ARE YOU THREE LAZY ARSES DOING ON THE GROUND? GET BACK TO WORK!'

Uraccen was on his feet at once, Borkul got up more slowly, but Alyssa calmly rose onto her own, slightly surprised at the unexpectedness of the voice, but looking hardly scared or intimidated at all.

Urzoga gra-Shugurz stood on the wooden platform, glowering ferociously down at them all. Her eyes hardened with great dislike as she looked upon Alyssa. With equal hate, Alyssa glared back at her.

'Was something I discussed unclear?' she snarled.

Alyssa threw her a winning smirk. 'As I said before, I'm a little deaf in this ear.' She tapped her head meaningfully, and Borkul stifled a snicker, pretending to cough to mask it.

Urzoga was not fooled. 'You know,' she said, 'I'm not liking the looks of you, murderer. I think it's time that you learned your place. How things work in the Cidhna mine.'

She drew a mace from her hip and swung it easily from her fingers. 'Now get up here before I drag you up,' she snarled.

Uraccen couldn't resist a glance at Alyssa. Okay, he felt respect for the woman, but this was her fault. But yet...she _still_ looked unafraid. What was _up_ with her? But he did see that the fire was burning in her eyes, menacingly bright, burning with bitterness and rage and complete hatred. He could hardly stand looking at her side-on.

'No,' Alyssa said. Her voice was soft, but Uraccen heard it very, very clearly.

'Oh?' Urzoga's eyes blazed. 'Then I'll swap the mace for the whip.'

'Back down, Urzoga,' growled Alyssa—her voice had a shocking amount of...something in it now, something deep, something that Uraccen could only describe as...ancient?...now thrumming in every single syllable. It seemed to fill the entire cavern. 'You have _no idea_ what _exactly_ you're dealing with.'

Urzoga was either extremely resilient or extremely stupid. 'Hah! All I know is that I'm dealing with an impertinent whelp of a prisoner who's about to get her bones cracked.' Swinging the mace casually between her fingers, she prepared to move down the ramp.

What happened next startled everyone except Alyssa.

She took a deep breath and her voice came out as a roar when she bellowed next. It filled the entire chamber. '_ZUN!_'

Uraccen had no idea what the incantation meant, but whatever it was...it was some pretty powerful stuff. The next moment, some sort of energy exploded from Alyssa, and slammed straight into Urzoga. She cursed as her weapon was torn from her grip, flew backwards, and smashed to pieces on the rock wall behind her.

She glanced back, stunned, at Alyssa, who was straightening, a satisfied smile already playing on her face.

'_That's_ what you're up against,' she remarked, her voice a tad rougher from before. 'Now get the hell out of my sight, Urzoga, and don't even think of threatening me again.'

The Orc stared for a split second longer, before she turned, and she hurriedly left the mines. Uraccen heard her fumble not just with the lock, but also with the chains, before her retreating footsteps faded and an eerie silence descended in the mines.

Why? Every single prisoner had been attracted by the force of Alyssa's...roar? Spell? Whatever it was...

Alyssa glanced at Uraccen and Borkul, still grinning. 'Hardly worth my breath,' she said.

Her eyes gleamed with that odd flame that made Uraccen take a pace back, a touch nervous. But Borkul, on the contrary, was grinning broadly in return, and he crossed his arms over his chest, undoubtedly impressed.

'Self defense, you said...what rubbish. You are _definitely_ going to fit in around here.'


End file.
